Pulling a Homer
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: Middle of the ep filler for Moonlighting, in which Tony does his unintentional darnedest to prevent Tiva. His focus is disturbed by visions of a sandwich.


Disclaimer: Silly customer! You cannot hurt the Twinkie!

Spoilers: Minor, one-line throwaway comment from _Moonlighting_.

Summary: So where are DiNozzo and David? Still canvassing hotels, huh? Riiiiight.

* * *

"I can see why the FBI would choose this location for a safe-house, but it seems like it would come in overbudget."

"Uh…huh." Tony made a nervous grab for the list of hotels he had thrown on the dash a few minutes before as Ziva parked the car with only a slight scraping of the front bumper. There was no telling how long it would be before he made it back here, and he wanted to make the most of his momentary inspiration. He waited until they were in the lobby to whisper, "This place isn't actually on the list."

She whirled on him, her boot squeaking on the marble floor as she demonstrated her lack of concern over making a scene. "Why are we here?"

He took a deep breath and settled his hands on her shoulders as he looked her in the eye. "Two words – lunchtime."

She gave his left hand a sidelong scowl and said, "I thought that was one word."

"Yeah, well you also think that base-stealing is an arrestable offense."

She took the bait, immediately parrying the perceived slight. "That was only because you would not stop buying beers from the vendor!"

"What does one thing have to do with the other?"

"It means that the rules of baseball are arbitrary and pointless to a sober person, so what hope did I have?"

He patted her head, drawing a few angry swats. "Aw, you'll understand baseball someday, which is more than I can say for the Nationals, though they're looking okay so far. Who knows, the next time we go to a game they may still be in the race."

"There are races in baseball?"

He grinned and dragged her toward the front desk. "We'll know you're a real American the day you start following the sixth inning sausage race at Miller Park."

"I know that innings are baseball, but when did meats become…" She paused when she realized where they were headed. "Where is the restaurant?"

"They don't have one."

"I thought you said we were here for lunch."

"We are." He had overcome the first obstacle of getting here, so there was no reason to turn back now that he had arrived at the second, potentially fatal one. "I have to get us a room."

He waved to the receptionist, but Ziva caught his arm. "Explain why you should keep this hand."

"Because you can't get room service in the lobby." He reached awkwardly for his wallet with his left hand, Ziva still having custody of his right. "This hotel has the best Cuban sandwich this side of Havana, and I'm not one to ignore the craving when it hits." To his surprise, she released his arm with a smirk, allowing him to pick up a pen with the hotel's logo that would look nice in his top desk drawer.

She waited until he had completed the formalities with the receptionist and turned over his credit card, her smirk still in place as she leaned casually against the desk. "So, you are checking into a hotel in order to get an overpriced room-service sandwich?"

"I think you're underestimating just how good this sandwich is. They have this secret mustard that you can't get anywhere else and this pressed, hot bread, and the meat! The meat! It has ham, roasted pork _and_ salami!" Her grimace deepened with each meat he mentioned, so he added, "They have really good burgers, too. And their fries! Oh, and the coleslaw. You'll thank me for this."

She looked at him with some disbelief. "You are really just here for a sandwich?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm actually get money back on my income taxes this year, so I can treat myself. Why?"

"No reason." She wandered away and flopped onto a sofa while he signed the receipt and accepted his keycard, feeling like he had gotten away with something by negotiating the early check-in.

She didn't seem very eager when he extended his hand to pull her off the couch, so he sat beside her. "The burgers really are amazing. I mean, it's not Kobe beef, but I think it's ground sirloin, and they mix it with some kind of onions or something right in the burger that's just…"

She pushed off the cushions. "You are obviously starving, in spite of the fact that I watched you devour a giant bear claw this morning."

"It was an apple fritter."

"Whatever. Can we go to our room now?"

He was suddenly unsure if he wanted to be alone with a suddenly-grumpy assassin, but…special mustard! Swiss cheese! Three meats! "Four-oh-nine. Y'know, like the song!"

"No, I do not know." She struck the button for the elevator with unnecessary force. "Something foolish and American, I assume."

"If you consider the Beach Boys and Chevrolet foolish." He caught a glimpse of her expression as he stepped into the elevator. "Okay, we'll drop that. Let's just go upstairs and have a delicious lunch."

He was fairly sure he heard her mutter, "I should have taken the stairs," but decided it was best not to respond. He was one short phone call away from his sandwich.

Five minutes and one conversation with room service later, he kicked off his shoes and relaxed on the king-size bed that Ziva had shunned in favor of a chair by the window. The TV came to life on a channel extolling the hotel's amenities. He started flipping through the channels. "Hey, there's plenty of room here," he said, patting the bed absently as the numbers went by in a blur of color.

"I am fine."

"But you can't see the TV!"

"Not every moment must be filled with television."

He stopped as one blur looked promising. "Look! Day baseball!"

"Hmph."

He rolled onto his side to face her. "What's up with you? I don't need to remind you that you picked lunch yesterday, do I?"

"A lunch that was delivered to the bullpen, allowing us to keep working as we ate."

"Yeah, well…I'm maxed out on overtime for the month, so I know you must be too. Just consider this comp time. Since when do you care about being on the clock, anyway?"

"I am not particularly concerned with it."

"Then are you mad because I surprised you with this? Because I know surprising you is an accomplishment…" He trailed off as she continued to stare unflinchingly out the window, refusing to make eye contact. "Are you just ticked because I checked us into a hotel? Did you think I tried to mask a plan to seduce you behind a lame sandwich story?" Actually, that made a lot more sense than paying for a two-hundred dollar hotel room he was only using for lunch, but it was probably best not to draw attention to that.

Ziva, for her part, had risen to remove her coat. "Tony, you got us a hotel room in the middle of the day. What was I supposed to think?"

"Look, I'll admit the reason is weak, but it's totally…wait a second." He leaned on the remote as he sat up, raising the volume of the game to eardrum-bursting levels before he managed to turn the TV off. He, like most people, had more important issues than the Orioles and Blue Jays at the moment; his just happened to involve a fine line between life and painful, painful death. "You, uh, didn't get all, uh, PMS-y until you found out I was really here for a, uh, sandwich."

She finally met his gaze. "And?"

"And, uh…you were kinda, uh, going along with it."

He was unable to look away as she slowly approached him. "_And_?"

Fifteen minutes later, he was barely able to answer a knock at the door with a shouted, "Leave the tray outside!"

Thirty minutes after that, Ziva grabbed his shirt off the floor and slipped into it to retrieve their delayed lunch. He gathered the energy to sit up as she set it on the end of the bed after smoothing a section of the displaced comforter. He realized that his sandwich wouldn't get any closer unless he reached for it, but it didn't seem all that important anymore.

She rolled her eyes and picked up his plate, which he accepted gratefully. "Thanks. Not sure how far I can move at the moment."

"You deserve a break." She settled beside him with her own plate and they fell to eating. The only pause in the first few minutes came when he sent a glob of mustard splattering on his chest. Before he could grab a napkin, she had licked it off. "That is good mustard."

"Mmmm." Right. Mustard. Meat. Sexy woman licking him. He balanced his plate on his stomach and extended a hand beneath the sheets until he found a bare thigh. This was the best lunch he'd ever had, he decided as he went back to his sandwich, one-handed.

After a few more minutes of companionable silence, she said, "You were right."

He tried to remember suggesting anything beyond a sandwich. She'd pretty much taken control, so… He took a bite of his sandwich to stop himself from saying anything to screw up their hotel time. "Huh?"

"This hamburger. It is very good." She set the plate, its contents half-eaten, on the nightstand in back of her. "I do not know if I should finish it now or leave it for later."

He wasn't about to misinterpret another invitation today. "Y'know, I've got this room 'til tomorrow morning, and they've got a great dinner menu, and breakfast, too. I think you'll be completely satisfied."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just so we are clear, we are not actually talking about meals, right?"

"Well, we can still order meals, but, no."

"Hmm. Did you spill more mustard?"

He was pretty sure he hadn't, but cursed McGee out loud when his phone rang and interrupted Ziva's careful inspection. She had retreated to her side of the bed by the time he concluded his conversation. "You will need your shirt back, yes?"

"Yeah, but leave it on until I get to the bathroom. I'm gonna jump in the shower for a minute."

"Cold?"

"Icy." He grabbed the rest of his clothes off the floor and held them in front of his hips as he walked to the bathroom, though he couldn't help but notice Ziva's hungry focus on the area. "I need it if I'm going to hold off my appetite until dinner."


End file.
